An approaching hooded figure slowed their footsteps and looked around cautiously before turning from the well-trodden road, disappearing amongst the trees. Blaine knew he had found the one he'd been told to look for.

These woods were not his own; he did not know where this course would lead him, only that answers were hidden beneath that cloak. He'd acted in haste and come without a plan, but three days waiting by the road for this moment gave him time to think.

In his rush to act, he thought knowledge of a location would be enough, that if he could answer the question of where, he could solve the riddle of how; but time in solitude provided him new questions and answers.

He would be sure to learn the location, but not from the shadows. In this instance, he would take care to leave an impression.

He tracked the red cape billowing in the light winds as it wound through the unfamiliar forest, determining when best to make a move. In order to do this correctly, they would have to be alone. He couldn't risk being seen by the one he was truly after.

Blaine sensed they were getting closer to a destination; his timeframe was narrowing as ahead of him, a suspicious head looked from side to side. A few times, he had been led in circles, retracing steps they'd already taken as the figure, no doubt, was concerned about being followed. Careful huntsman he was, he was not noticed until he wanted to be.

"Excuse me," he called out.

The figure stopped still, back and shoulders stiffened.

"I did not mean to frighten you. I'm not from here. My horse has abandoned me and I cannot find a path out of the wood." He received no response, and so continued. "Please. I am simply lost."

A voice rang out clear and firm. "How long have you been following me?"

"I haven't," he rushed to clarify. "I heard you –" He stopped as the figure whipped around, pulling the hood down to reveal an expression of total skepticism. He cowered for show in hopes he would seems nonthreatening, but he couldn't keep the surprise from his face at the sight of someone so young.

"I made no sound."

"Perhaps you are louder than you think."

"Perhaps you're lying."

"It is possible."

Blaine let himself be looked upon freely as a pair of eyes took in his disheveled appearance. His wild, curly hair was at its most untamed, his clothes were worn from travel, and his face was taken over by a fast-growing, untrimmed beard.

"Are you?"

"Lying? No. Please, if you point me on my way, I'll be glad to go."

"Why should I trust you?"

"If I were untrustworthy, wouldn't I have proved it by now? Understand I haven't asked you for a thing but directions. I care not about your intentions in this wood."

He watched the shift occur and knew his plan was working. All malice vanished from the face before him.

"What are you called?"

"My name is Blaine. And yours?"

"Rachel."

"Well, Rachel, pleasure as it is to meet you, I'd like to get home. And I'm sure you'd like to get wherever you are headed."

Rachel remained rooted where she stood as she told him how to find the road. As he retreated he thanked her for her help, pleased to know she had given him an honest answer. If he had any plans to follow her directions, he would certainly find himself at the road where they started. She trusted him; that was good; when he shattered it, she would be sure to play her part in all this perfectly.

For good measure, he turned to ask her to repeat the information. She rolled her eyes in annoyance, but no doubt crossed her features. Once again, he thanked her and went on his way. He could feel her watching and made sure to stay far from sight when she finally backed away and resumed her journey.

He was lead in more circles, but eventually he was led to a small cottage in a small clearing surrounded by massive, foreboding trees.

Observing from the shadows, he heard Rachel knock a distinctive pattern on the door before being allowed entry. He heard a voice before the door closed; the one he'd been searching for. For a brief moment, the huntsman reveled in the thrill of success.

But the game wasn't over yet. It was only just beginning.

Blaine had waited outside the cottage for Rachel to reemerge until just before dusk began to fall. He stayed hidden, unsure of who else was inside and knowing he wouldn't be able to do this alone.

This had to be done right or he would never be forgiven, never forgive himself. If Blaine were overpowered, all clues to this location would not only disappear, but be rendered useless. They would certainly relocate if they knew they were found out.

Camp was close, he could wait before reporting what he'd found. He convinced himself he was staying to be sure Rachel did not abscond with his prey, and not because he wanted visual proof. He'd heard the voice, he'd know it anywhere.

He waited and when the door opened, Rachel stepped out, but not alone. A pair of porcelain arms wrapped themselves around her shoulders and then quickly disappeared back inside before the door closed.

It set the huntsman so on edge he was ready to throw caution to the wind and carry out his plans immediately. He choked down the urge to storm inside, thinking of the consequences.

Rachel was long gone before Blaine stole away in the night to return to camp and inform his men of the new plan.

Men were sent in shifts to keep an eye on the cottage until Blaine could return.

Rachel returned to the cottage days later, following the same unmarked trail through the trees. She found nothing amiss on her way, as the men who had come and gone left no trace of their presence.

She knocked on the door in the new pattern decided upon days earlier. There was no answer and she knocked again.

When the door opened, it wasn't the same man it always was, but the one she had helped find his way in the wood; a cleaner, shaven, intimidating version of that man.

"What are you doing here?"

Rachel gaped openly at Blaine. Her instinct was to flee, but where would that get her? Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.

In a moment of foolish boldness, Rachel rushed into the cottage to look around. She realized her mistake as she found no one and turned to face Blaine. Rachel eyed the doorway, but he was standing between her and freedom.

"Where is he?" she gulped.

"Gone."

"Gone where?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Rachel."

Blaine's tone was cold and his eyes were dangerously dark. And when he spoke shivers trailed up Rachel's spine and her blood ran cold.

"He's not who you're looking for."

"Who's the liar now? He was exactly the man I was looking for."

"Was?"

"Your Prince is dead."

Rachel broke down, sinking to the floor and whispering "no" over and over again, her voice muffled by the hand she slapped over her mouth.

Blaine watched her tiny body shake with the news. He stepped aside from the doorway, his movement frightening her. When she looked up, her fear was overtaken by pure anger.

Defiantly, she asked, "will you kill me too?"

"No."

"Why would you do this?"

"It needed to be done. No go."

Rachel only stared until Blaine's voice boomed through the room as he shouted, "Go!"

She scrambled to her feet and hastened to leave, but Blaine stepped in front of her.

I forgot one thing," his voice was low and threatening, "Do not keep this to yourself. Let it be known: the Prince has been found, and his heart ripped from his chest."

Rachel ran around and past Blaine. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her.

The huntsman watched her go, his plan falling into place as perfectly as he knew it would.